


The Bucky Barnes Guide to Becoming a Cat Dad

by Kidd_you_not



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alpine's a little shit, Cat rearing, Fluff, Guest Stars Clint and Lucky, M/M, Occasional swearing, Pre-Slash, Soft Bucky Barnes, Supportive Steve Rogers, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, angst (just a little)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:47:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24261565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kidd_you_not/pseuds/Kidd_you_not
Summary: He’s on his knees, rainwater seeping through his cargo pants, his face as close to the rough pavement as he can make it, trying to get a look at the dirty white, trembling ball of wet fur squeezed underneath the dumpster.“Hey, baby,” he coos, “how you doin’?”Or: Bucky finds a kitten and, against all logic and reason, decides to bring it home.
Relationships: Alpine the Cat & James "Bucky" Barnes, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, pre James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, pre-winterhawk - Relationship
Comments: 42
Kudos: 136





	The Bucky Barnes Guide to Becoming a Cat Dad

**Author's Note:**

> That's it, that's the fic. I asked [ hopelessly_me ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopelessly_me) for short fic ideas, she said "cats" and that's how I somehow ended up with almost 9k worth of plotless fluff. Kudos to the Clintucky Fried Chicken discord for putting up with my constant whining!

The little thing is weak, wet, and entirely too thin for Bucky’s liking. He found it under a dumpster in a back alley, meowing pitifully, too scared to venture into the world to look for its mother and his heart clenched with the first shaky sound it made.

He’s on his knees, rainwater seeping through his cargo pants, his face as close to the rough pavement as he can make it without touching the suspicious looking liquid he can smell from several feet away, trying to get a look at the dirty white, trembling ball of wet fur squeezed underneath the dumpster. 

“Come here, little one,” he tries to lure. But the kitten only meows. His arm won’t fit under the thing, at least not far enough to reach it, and he curses quietly. He could try to move the dumpster, but he’s scared the Kitten will panic and run. Or that he’ll hurt it.

He gets back to his feet and looks around. There might be restaurants close by, somewhere he can get something to lure it out. He just hopes it will still be here when he returns.

It’s only when he’s standing in line at a nearby corner store with a bag full of ham and yogurt that he wonders why he’s even doing this. He doesn’t know that cat, it probably has a mother that will come and get it eventually, he should just leave it alone and go home. Should, should, should. 

It’s only when he’s back at the alley, trying to fumble the ham box open one-handed that he wonders if the kitten's even old enough to eat solid foods. He sighs. At least he remembered to buy the lactose free yogurt. 

Half the ham spills out of the box and onto the pavement and he tries to stem his frustration. It’s not like it would end up anywhere else, anyway. He takes a deep breath, shoves the crushing feeling of inadequacy to the side and crouches down again. The kitten’s still there, watching him warily from a safe distance. 

“Hey, baby,” he says, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible, “how you doin’?” Slowly, he manages to rip some of the ham into small, chewable strips. The kitten meows.

“Are you hungry?” he croons. His heart melts at the sight of this tiny, bedraggled thing looking so scared and helpless. He tries not to think about the reason why he wants to help it so bad, wants to make it stop looking like that; he'll leave that can unopened until his next therapy session. 

Bucky tries to fling a strip of ham towards her, but it smacks against the dumpster and falls to the ground, not even close to the cat. He hisses in annoyance and the kitten flattens its ears and huddles closer to the back wall. 

“Oh no, I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean it.” But the cat is still giving him the stink-eye. 

He tries throwing the ham again and this time, it lands close enough to its destination to attract the kittens attention. “Come on, you’re hungry, right?” Another strip lands a little closer and finally, the kitten moves. Slowly, it steps away from the wall, its awkwardly big ears pointed in curiosity. It puts one tiny paw in front of the other, belly brushing the ground, inspects the food, sniffs it and finally, devours it in one bite. 

Now hooked, it looks back at Bucky, its tongue licking its snout and mouth over and over again. 

“Well done, baby,” he croons. “Do you want more? ‘Cause I got more.” Resting his weight on his elbow, he lifts another piece of ham with his right hand. His knees are starting to ache, but he knows he’s willing to spend the rest of the day kneeling in front of this dumpster in what could be urine, just to make this one cat happy.

He throws more ham, watches as the cat comes a little closer without fear and wonders what he’s gonna do next. He doesn’t want to leave it out here, all alone, but he can’t bring a cat back to his and Steve’s apartment. Firstly, because Steve is allergic and secondly, because he knows that the landlord doesn’t allow pets in the building. 

But looking at this kitten, huddled between trash, wet and dirty, trembling from a mix of cold and what could be fear, he could never in a million years abandon it here. His mind's made up.

It takes a long time before he has the cat confident enough to leave its shelter and crawl out. He rips the yogurt foil off and pours some of the creamy white onto the ground. The kitten’s on it in less than a second, greedily licking every last drop off the cold ground. When the treat’s all gone, it looks up at Bucky expectantly and he notices that it has vibrant blue eyes unlike any cat's he’s ever seen before.

“My, what a pretty baby you are.” The cat squeaks back, still licking its snout. He balances the cup on his thighs, dips his index finger into the yogurt and holds his hand out. Without hesitation, the kitten leaps forward, stumbles a little, and covers his finger with tickling little licks and bites. His heart almost bursts with warmth and he can’t keep himself from beaming in joy. 

When his finger’s all clean, the kitten looks up at Bucky impatiently and meows again. It bounds forward, puts his little paws on Bucky’s left knee, meows again with even more insistence and tries to pull the treat in his hand down to ground level. 

He laughs and pours more yogurt out. Bucky doesn’t know how to get the kitten home, but as he watches it fill its stomach, he can’t find it in himself to leave and come back with a carrier or a box. His coat pocket would have to do. 

He throws the now empty cup in the trash while the cat’s still busy and slowly, he creeps closer to the distracted animal. With one quick grab, he fits his hand around its tiny body and picks it up. The cat’s not impressed; as soon as it feels his touch, it starts yowling, clawing and biting at the offending hand. Bucky curses again and almost drops it. Tiny, sharp teeth have latched on to his wrist and even tinier, shaper claws are digging into the back of his hand. 

Quickly, he drops it into his large coat pocket and closes the flap. The cat’s still hissing, but at least like this, it could take his anger out on the cloth instead of his skin. He puts his hand over his pocket, ensuring that the kitten has enough space and air to breath and starts walking. 

  
Steve isn’t home when Bucky returns, which is great since he doesn‘t really know how to explain the cat thing anyway, especially to his allergic roommate. He shucks his shoes at the entrance door and hurries into his room. The kitten has gotten a bit impatient, he thinks, because the longer they walked, the more it struggled. He winces when he remembers the looks he'd gotten from his fellow pedestrians. 

Now, the cat‘s deceptively calm and Bucky doesn‘t trust it one bit. He knows very few things about cats, but one of those is that they are devious little fuckers. Cautiously, he opens the flap of his coat pocket and peeks inside. Apart from the outline of an ear, he can‘t make out much. 

Slowly, he reaches into the pocket and shoves his hand under the tight ball of fluff he can feel. Even slower, he pulls it out. The kitten has fallen asleep, probably exhausted from sitting in the cold for so long, as well as from fighting Bucky tooth and nail. Or, tooth and claw. His heart sores when he realises that it's barely bigger than his palm. 

As gently as possible, he puts it down on his pillow and watches as the tiny thing curls up tighter and tucks its nose under its tail. The following rush of adoration almost kills him on the spot. 

He shucks his coat and changes into a dry pair of pants, never taking his eyes off the white bundle on his bed. It‘s only then that he remembers that he doesn‘t have any experience with cats, doesn‘t know anything about them and isn‘t at all equipped to raise one. All things he should change before someone else points it out to him.

He banishes the thought of telling Steve from his head; somehow, having this thing that's only his and his alone, something he doesn't yet have to share with his best friend, is sooting his constantly frayed nerves and watching the kitten, the possessive part of him rears its head. He doesn't want to give that up quite yet. 

Carefully, he lowers himself to sit on his mattress and pulls out his phone. It’s time to educate himself. 

  
It takes the kitten less than half an hour to be up and at full energy again. Bucky clues in to that when it uses his distraction with his research to sneak up on him from behind and leap at his head. His messy bun, to be exact.

“Argh!” he yells. “Goddammit!” He drops his phone and reaches his hand back to grab the kitten, but it’s way faster than he can ever hope to be. Before he can blink, it’s jumped off the bed and hides underneath it. He follows as best as he can.

“Hey,” he says, his face pressed to the carpet. “What was that?” The kitten only stares back at him, eyes wide and tail swishing, and it’s eerily reminiscent of how he’d found it. Except that it isn’t trembling anymore. Instead, its now dry fur is bristled to make it look almost twice its size. It meows pitifully.

“Hey, hey,” he tries to calm it down, “what’s wrong, baby?” It only increases its volume. Shit, he thinks. Is it hungry? Is it hurt? He should take it to a vet. Yes, that’s what he should do.

When he gets his phone back in his hand, he remembers that he doesn’t have a carrier and showing up at the vet without one might make him look bad. They could take the cat away from him. Although he only’s known that fur ball for a couple hours, everything in him is struggling against the thought of losing it again. 

But not having a carrier isn’t his only problem. He needs cat food, a litter box, toys, everything. And he only has one hand and no car. He curses. It looks like he’d spend the rest of the days running errands instead of spending it with the kitten like he had hoped. Looking at its current position, it wouldn’t be too sad about his absence, though. 

He gets the food first and prays that the kitten can hold its bladder until he’s had the time to go back and get the box and cat litter. His biggest backpack isn’t nearly big enough to fit in all the wet food, treats and toys he's tried to stuff in, and he arrives back at his apartment panting from carrying his load up the stairs. The elevator’s broken again and if he was in the right mind to do it, he’d yell at the landlord to finally get it fixed. But with the way he is right now, he’ll leave it to Steve.

Apropos, Steve. Bucky exhales in relief when he opens the apartment and sees that Steve still isn’t home. His luck seems to be holding out, because when he opens the door to his room, the cat comes shooting out of its hiding place under the bed and runs at him, screaming. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” he tries to sooth it, “what’s wrong? Are you hungry?” The kitten only screams louder. 

Hurriedly, he dumps his backpack in the corner and while the cat's is distracted with sniffing it, he slips out of the room to get a small plate. When he comes back to his room, the cats takes one look at him and opens its mouth to protest again. 

“Okay, you’re probably hungry,” Bucky mumbles and pulls a can of wet food out of his backpack. He holds it out for the cat to sniff. “They said that this one is for babies. And guess what you are? You’re a baby.” It answers with a pleading, stretched out scream. 

“Yes, yes, yes.” He opens the can and dumps its content onto the plate. The kitten is on it in a nanosecond and almost gets Bucky to drop the plate in its rush.

When he returns home an hour later, litter box balanced on his arm, he immediately knows that his luck didn’t hold out this time. He can tell by the smell.

  
“Sit,” Bucky says. The cat meows. “Sit,” he repeats. It stands up on its hind legs to stretch far enough to grab the treat with its tiny, sharp claws. _Good enough_ , he decides and lets it have the treat. 

A door opening and closing startles him out of his focus. It’s already way past ten in the evening and the kitten’s calmed down considerably since it first opened its eyes in this new place. Right now, it’s peacefully sitting in front of him, eyes wide and ears pointed towards him, waiting for what he does next. He’s been pulling one toy after another out of his backpack and up until now, the kitten has seemed to like every single one. 

“Bucky, I’m home!” Steve yells from the hallway. In a streak of fur, the cat’s under the bed again and Bucky curses. He shouldn’t have gotten so distracted and remembered to check in with Steve. Where's that guy been the whole day?

He gets up and stretches his legs, stiff from sitting on the floor for so long. Carefully, he opens the door and slips out, but the cat doesn’t emerge from its hiding spot. 

“Hey, Steve,” he greets his best friend, his hand stuffed into his hoodie.

Steve grins back. “Hey, man. How was your day?” 

This is the point when Bucky should open his mouth and confess. Confess that he found a kitten and, against all common sense, brought it home. But he only shrugs and lies: “Like any other, I guess.”

Steve hums, distracted by unlacing his shoes. 

“Where have you been?” Bucky finally asks. Steve looks up in surprise. 

“Didn’t I tell you about that VA thing today?”

“Uh,” Bucky tries. Steve may have said something before leaving this morning, but he can’t recall what to save his life. “You probably did.” He shrugs.

Steve gives him a smile. “Well, I hope you weren’t too bored without me gone.”

Bucky’s eye flicker to the closed door of his room and away again. “Nope, boredom wasn’t a problem.”

  
He manages to successfully hide the kitten for exactly one day and not a single minute more. 

The problem with a young cats, especially ones that are used to the presence of humans, is that they’re able to shake off all initial inhibitions and fears in a very small amount of time. And the problem with this particular young cat is that as soon as it got used to Bucky and used to the room it now lived in, it got bored. 

Bucky wakes up the next morning with a mouth full of fur and a set of big, blue eyes in a tiny face trained on his nose. He kind of expects the bite that follows, although he still swears up a storm that makes the cat hide under the bed again. 

“Fucking hell,” he groans, rubbing his nose where the kitten’s teeth barely penetrated the skin. It must have slept too much yesterday, because it woke him up during the night several times, and not always on purpose. As endearing as he found it when it snuggled into his face a few hours ago, he isn’t sure it’s worth the abuse; or the cat hair he keeps spitting out. 

A meow comes from under his bed in answer, and he sighs. “Hungry, baby?” No answer. He’ll train it to respond later, a thought that sends a pleasant warmth through his chest. 

Bucky rolls over and lets his head hang down to look under the bed. “Food?” he asks, looking at the white ball of fluff huddled in the corner. It doesn’t answer, but at least it steps closer to sniff at his face. He’ll take it. 

Bucky soon realises that getting assaulted in his sleep isn’t the only symptom of a bored, hyperactive kitten. They’re lucky that Steve’s a heavy sleeper, or the cat’s theatrics might have already busted them. He shakes his head and smiles. 

When he returns to his room with his own breakfast, he’s assaulted by the smell of cat food and a full litter box and he grimaces. Maybe having both in the same room isn't optimal, but it's all he can do for now. He catches the white streak in the corner of his eye and barely steps in the way of the kitten slipping out of the partly open door. 

“No!” he hisses. It looks up in confusion and tries to squeeze through his legs. “No, stop that, you can’t go out!” He gently shoves it back with his bare foot and in retaliation, it pounces. He can barely keep in the howl when he feels tiny, sharp claws and teeth boring into his toes. The kitten’s under the bed in less than a millisecond and Bucky hops into the room and slams the door, spitting out the most vicious, silent expletives he can muster.

“You little fucker,” he groans and lets himself fall onto the bed, his sandwich now a soggy heap on the floor.

  
Steve gets up hours later, which means it must be Sunday. He only sleeps in on Sundays. By now, the kitten’s ventured out form its hiding spot and is currently fast asleep on Bucky’s lap. He froze up like a deer in headlights when he first felt the tentative pat of a paw on his thigh, elation and giddiness dispelling his worried thoughts. He watches as its flanks slowly rise and fall and keeps his hands curled around the little body, desperate to feel its warmth and the softness of its fur. 

The sight soothes and settles something in him and he knows he’s in love. 

A door falls shut somewhere in the apartment and the cat twitches awake, scrambling out of the Bucky’s hold to stare at the door, ears pointed forward and tail whipping back and forth. 

“It’s fine, baby, it’s just Steve,” he tries to sooth it but the only indication that it hears him is a slight twitch of its right ear. Steps sound outside his door and wide eyed, Bucky remembers that Steve absolutely shouldn’t come in right now. 

His sudden tension startles the cat and it scrambles off his lap and out of view, while Bucky leaps off the bed and throws himself against the door. It slams shut after only opening a crack, smacking something on the other side and he grimaces when he hears Steve yelp. 

“Motherfucker!” his roommate shouts. “What the fuck, Bucky?” 

Bucky scrambles for an excuse, something believable, but all he can come up with is: “I’m naked!” There’s silence on the other side. Bucky winces. 

“Why are you naked?” Steve asks slowly. 

“It’s my room, I can be naked if I want to!” He turns his head a little and tries to catch sight of the kitten, but no luck. 

“Why are you not wearing clothes in the middle of the day?” 

His hand still pressed to the door, Bucky sputters for a second and finally settles on, “I spilled something.”

There’s another moment of silence in which he curses his entire existence, until Steve finally answers. “Okay,” he says, drawing the ‘a’ out needlessly. Bucky knows he’s being weird, for god's sake. “See you later then?”

Bucky sags in relief. “Yeah, see you later.”

  
Now that the kitten has watched the door open and shut without being scared of its immediate surroundings anymore- Bucky's very proud of that, although he hates the results -the natural thing for a kitten is, it decides, to explore. And as soon as his small bedroom was thoroughly explored, a different environment's needed. 

The cat slips through his legs when he tries to leaves his room to face Steve and try to convince him that no, Bucky isn't being weird at all, he doesn't need to call his therapist. He feels the brush of the kitten’s fur against his bare calf and barely manages to keep in the shout. 

_Get back here, get back here, get back here you little terror_ , he thinks with gritted teeth, watching it disappear in the kitchen doorway. 

He must have made a sound anyway, because in the next instance, he hears Steve calling him. “Bucky? You alright?” He can't have spotted the cat yet, or Bucky would be hearing something very different. 

“I’m fine,” he calls back and leaves his bedroom door open, just in case the cat changes its tiny, evil mind and decides to sneak back in. 

When he enters the kitchen, Steve’s sitting at the table, a mug, the paper and his lunch in front of him. He's hunched forward with all his attention on his newspaper and Bucky sends a quick mental ‘thank you’ towards it for distracting Steve so well. On light feet, he steps fully into the room, eyes flitting from one possible hiding place to another. 

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says distractedly, mouth full of toast. 

Trying to be inconspicuous, Bucky bends slightly to look under the table. “Hey, Steve.”

“Are you looking for something?” 

“Uhm.” He searches for a better answer than ‘I hid a cat from you and it escaped’. “Lost a hair-tie earlier.”

“Aww.” Bucky looks up and watches Steve put down the newspaper. “I can help you look if you want. I know how much they mean to you.” 

Bucky throws Steve the finger. “Fuck off,” he adds for good measure and Steve goes back to his readings, grinning like an idiot. 

He enters the kitchen aisle, keeping his eyes on the floor. The open architecture allowed the cat access to all their living spaces except the bath and their respective rooms, so Bucky has a lot of ground to cover. He doesn’t think about how he’ll manage to get the kitten back to his room without Steve noticing, but he’s desperate enough to consider stuffing it down his shirt. Not an option he finds very appealing, with the millions of claws that tiny demon seems to posses. 

He kneels to look under the couch, but nothing. Bucky curses their lack of doors not for the first time since moving in.

“Does it smell like cat food in here?” Steve asks from the table. 

Bucky stands up and glances at the garbage can guiltily. “No.” He checks the television and its surroundings next, worried about the kitten chewing on cables. 

“Huh,” is what he gets in return. Maybe Bucky should search the bathroom as well, maybe the kitten found a way inside. Maybe it’s back in his room already and he’s wasting his time. 

He ventures into the hallway, his eyes still fixed downward. There’s a sneeze coming from Steve’s direction and Bucky freezes. _Oh no_ , he thinks. Steve’s allergies. Either the cat or Bucky must have gotten close enough to trigger them. Another sneeze and he returns to watch Steve pinch his nose with a mumbled curse. 

“What the hell?” Steve asks. 

“Must be the pollen,” Bucky supplies hesitantly, still eying all the dark corners the apartment had to offer. 

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Steve sighs and unfolds the newspaper to find more material. As far as Bucky can see, he settles on an article about a skiing competition in Austria and Bucky barely manages to hide his eye roll. Steve’s really the only one who’d find this interesting.

The blond sets the paper down and stands up to refill his mug. Lost in thought about the missing kitten, Bucky’s eyes follow him into the kitchen and that’s when he sees it. The little devil, demon spawn and evil itself, perched on top of the fridge literal centimetres away from Steve’s head. How Steve didn’t see it when walking past, Bucky can only fathom. 

And oh hell, Bucky knows that expression. The cat’s eyes are fixed on Steve, little head tilted in curiosity, ears perked up. Under any other circumstances, Bucky would find the picture insanely cute, but he can only gape and watch disaster unfold.

It strikes when Steve turns around, attention on his full and steaming mug. As if in slow motion, the kitten raises one of its tiny paws, claws glinting in the light, and smacks Steve right on the nose. 

If Bucky still had both hands, he’d be using them to tear his hair out, but he can only cover his mouth as Steve yelps, sloshes hot tea over his hand and arm, curses, and drops the mug. The cat, startled by the loud noise, leaps into the air and lands on its feet, fur bristled in agitation. 

“Fucking hell!” Steve yells. “What the fuck was that?!” He runs to the sink and Bucky cringes in sympathy when he catches sight of the reddened skin on Steve’s arm. He tries to move his mouth but all that comes out is a jumbled mess of syllables and sounds. 

Steve whirls around, a wet towel covering his hand, his mouth hanging comically open. “Bucky, there’s a cat!”

Bucky winces. “Yup.”

“The hell did it come from?!”

He winces again. “Uhm…”

Steve looks away from the tiny white cat and gapes at Bucky instead. “Bucky!”

“Steve!” Bucky mimics his friend. 

“Where did it come from?!”

“Uhm.” Bucky feels like he’s caught in a loop. “My room.”

Steve’s gape turns into a glare. “Bucky. What have you done?”

“Uhm.” His hand comes up to brush a few strands of hair behind his ear in a nervous gesture. He looks at anything but Steve. 

A sigh draws his eyes away from the floor. Steve’s shoulders have sagged and even the cat seems to be calming down, now trying to clumsily wash the fur on its chest. Steve throws the dishtowel on the counter and inspects his arm.

Watching him, Bucky asks, “You okay?” in a small voice. 

“Yeah, Buck, I’m okay,” Steve sighs again. He looks back at the cat with a cautious look on his face, then leans back against the counter in a pointedly relaxed manner. “Now, wanna tell me what’s going on?”

  
Five minutes later and Bucky’s sulking. As if explaining his past impulsiveness wasn't embarrassing enough, now he has to listen to Steve’s criticism.

“I mean, does it even have a litter box?” Steve asks incredulously, gesturing at the now dozing kitten on the fridge.

“Yes, it has a litter box!” Before his friend can open his mouth again, Bucky says, “Listen, I just saw a lone kitten and felt bad for it, okay?”

“Then why didn’t you bring it to the shelter?” Steve demands and Bucky blinks in surprise. He didn’t even think about that. Steve gapes again. “You didn’t even think about that!”

Bucky throws his hands up in frustration. “I forgot, okay? I’m sorry!” Steve mumbles something Bucky can’t hear, but it doesn’t sound disappointed or appalled anymore, so he relaxes. 

“But why didn’t you tell me?” Steve looks genuinely hurt and immediately, Bucky feels like the worst human being on the planet.

He shrugs helplessly. “I thought you wouldn’t want me to keep it,” he mumbles, hunched in on himself and avoiding Steve’s eyes again. 

There’s a second of silence and Bucky jumps a little when he feels his best friend’s hand on his shoulder. “Bucky,” Steve says gently, “I don’t want you to feel like there’s something you can’t talk to me about and if I ever gave you reason to worry about my reaction, I’m really sorry.”

Bucky frowns. Steve doesn’t get it. It’s not that he was scared of Steve mocking him or something, it’s that the thought of losing the cat after only knowing it for a day makes him genuinely sick. There’s this previously hidden thing in him that just oozes possessiveness and it can’t be healthy, he knows that and should probably bring it up during therapy next week, but everything in him rebels at the mere thought of losing the cat; or having it taken from him. 

But he doesn’t want to explain this to Steve, already feeling vulnerable enough, so he just shrugs. Steve gives his shoulder a last squeeze and lifts his hand. 

“If you want to keep the cat, it’s not out off the table,” he says in a pointedly friendly tone. 

Something in Bucky squeezes and he looks up. “But what about your allergy?”

Steve shrugs. “It’s not as bad as it could be and that’s what medication is for, after all. I still have some lying around from before Peggy's cat died.”

Hope blooms in his chest and Bucky lets himself smile. Maybe for once, things will got his way. On the fridge, the kitten yawns and Bucky wants to melt at the sight. When he looks back at Steve, the other’s watching him with that proud little smile Bucky’s come to hate so much over the past years. The cat stretches and blinks at them.

“Are you hungry, baby?” Bucky asks and the cat meows. He suppresses the sudden urge to meow back. 

Steve frowns. “How did it even get up there?” 

Bucky shrugs and watches as the kitten walks around on top of the fridge, glancing down here and there. “No matter how it got up, it doesn’t look like it knows how to get down.” He steps into the kitchen aisle and immediately, the cat runs towards his end of the fridge, meowing pitifully. He picks it up with one hand, hoping it won’t bite him and gently puts it down by his feet. 

He gets a few purrs and a clumsy rub against his leg as reward. 

They don’t talk as Bucky fumbles the can of cat food open and as soon as he puts the full dish down, the kitten’s on it like an avalanche. He straightens and goes to lean back against the counter besides Steve.

“What name did you pick?” Steve asks after a few seconds of watching the cat demolish its food. 

Bucky bites his lip. “No name.” He’s thought about naming it, but the looming dread of maybe having to give it away later kept him from going through with it. Like he's been waiting for life to take this from him. Although, naming it will probably do nothing to get him even more attached; he's already completely gone as it is. 

From the corner of his eye, he sees Steve give him an understanding look. “Well, we’ll need one now. Is it a boy or a girl?”

“Uhm,” Bucky mumbles. “How do you tell?” Steve looks at him incredulously and glances at the cat who just finished its meal and is now trodding towards the hallway, tail straight in the air. 

“It’s a boy,” Steve says drily. 

  
They agree to take the cat to the vet on Monday and Bucky almost throws his mug against the wall in pure petulance. 

“Bucky,” Steve tries to reason with him, already looking a little desperate, “We have to. He could be malnourished, or have flees, or be too young to be away from his mother.”

“He’s not too young,” Bucky responds, arm crossed over his chest. In situations like this, he really misses the way his arms used to bulge in an intimidating way, back when he still had two. Now he just looks like he’s hugging himself.

“Bucky, you don’t know that,” Steve pleads. “Why are you so against going to the vet with him? He’ll need vaccines and stuff anyway!”

Bucky chews his lips for several moments, knowing he won’t get out of explaining this one any time soon, with the way Steve’s gaze is fixed on him and all. But it’s hard, so hard to admit to this one last fear. He may have already bought a carrier, but he secretly wished he'd never have to get the tom checked out anyway. 

Finally, he drops his arm, puts his elbow on the kitchen counter and bends to hide his face in his hand. “What if he’s chipped, Steve?” Bucky whispers. “What if there’s someone out there looking for him?” His throat closes up and he clamps his mouth shut, unwilling to make himself more vulnerable than he already is.

He feels Steve’s hand on his back a few moments later, and in a soft voice, Steve says, “I know you’ve fallen in love with this cat, Bucky, but if there is someone out there missing him, we can’t just keep him hostage here. How would you feel if someone found your pet and kept it?”

Bucky presses his lips together and ignores the wetness clouding his eyes. He squeezes them shut. 

“Alright, I’ll make you a deal,” Steve says and pats his back. “We take it to the vet, see if the kitten’s chipped and take it home if it isn’t.” Bucky shakily exhales, but Steve isn’t done yet. “ _But_ , we put up posters about a found cat and see if anyone’s looking for a white male kitten. If no one answers after one or two weeks, we keep him. Deal?”

Staring at the countertop beneath him, Bucky chews his lips. It looks like all he wants is just within reach, but what if there is someone out there, missing their beloved pet? He couldn’t bear losing the baby, now that he’s had him for a day. But if he rejects Steve’s deal, he won’t get to keep him at all. 

“Alright,” he presses out. Another pat on his back, and Steve retreats to the kitchen table, picking his newspaper back up again. The kitten’s on the other side of the room, curiously inspecting every nook and cranny he can find and suddenly, Bucky remembers something.

“But what about the landlord?” he asks nervously.

Steve only shrugs, attention on the article he’d started earlier. “We’ll find a way.”

Bucky smiles. Sometimes, he forgets about what an authority hating little bastard his best friend can be and honestly? If Steve says they’ll find a way to keep the cat against contract, Bucky trusts him a hundred and ten percent. 

“You should think about a name for him, Bucky. He’ll need one eventually.” 

Bucky leaves the kitchen so he has full view of the living room, keeping track of the small tomcat's movement. While passing Steve, he catches sight of the article about that skiing contest in Austria. A word stands out to him.

“I think I got one.”

  
The cat isn‘t chipped and Steve gets a fresh pack of antiallergenics on their way back to their apartment. He holds the door open for Bucky, who‘s carrying the box the kitten's currently hunched in. He‘s been meowing pitifully ever since they left the apartment hours ago and Bucky stopped several times along the way, just so he could stick his fingers into the carrier to calm him down. Steve watched, caught between exasperation and amusement for.

Concentrating on not bumping the carrier into the doorframe, Bucky edges into the building and thus doesn‘t notice the pattern of clawed feet on the stone floor until there‘s a one-eyed, barking dog jumping up and down in front of him, trying to stuff his face into the box. 

Bucky jerks back with a yell, rattling the carrier and the kitten yowls in protest. Naturally, the dog doesn‘t pick up on either of their discomfort and tries to get at the cat again. Before Bucky can react, a tiny white paw, claws extended, darts through the bars of the carrier and catches the dog right on the snout. 

The mutt jumps back with a yelp and a second later, Steve grabs him by the collar and pulls him back. Bucky‘s breathing hard, adrenaline and protectiveness cursing through him. “What the fuck?” he pants. He kneels and gently puts the carrier down, bending to see if the little tomcat's alright.

He's standing sideways, arching his back with bristled fur, making him look twice his size, and staring the the dog with wide blue eyes. Bucky grimaces. The kitten must be scared and stressed out of his mind. 

The dog barks and with a wagging tail, tries to break free of Steve's grip to reach Bucky and his charge.

"Hey!" Steve yells and pulls him back. 

A male voice several floors up calls down the stairwell. "Lucky! Come here!" The dog's entire demeanour perks up even further and within seconds of Steve letting him go, he vanishes up the stairs.

"Who lets their dog run free in the fucking building?!" Bucky immediately erupts, still high-strung from the earlier scare. His voice echoes through the hall.

Steve gives un uncomfortable shrug. "Maybe the dog slipped out the door or something."

"My ass. The owner must be a moron," Bucky hisses and picks the box up again. He gives the out of order sign by the elevator a grim glance and hauls the cat up the stairs to the first floor. 

Steve's opening the front door when the same voice sounds again. "Sorry about that, guys. He's back inside now." 

Bucky throws an annoyed look in the voice's direction and shoulders his way into the apartment. The last thing he sees before the door falls shut is Steve leaning over the bannister, looking up at someone above them. He's not in any mood to talk to strangers right not, especially those who carelessly endangered his cat, so he leaves the amends to Steve. 

He puts the carrier on the bed, opens it sinks down into his mattress. The vet visit went pretty well, in Bucky's opinion. The kitten was incredibly reluctant to stay still and opted for jumping off the table to explore the rest of the room several times, but no one lost an eye, so he counts it as a win.

Despite fighting him tooth and nail to not be put inside the box, now the kitten's reluctant to leave the confined space he's in. Silently, Bucky watches as he slowly steps out, ears alert and looking around in caution. Meeting the dog must have startled him pretty badly, Bucky thinks. 

Instead of easing Bucky‘s mind, finding that there‘s no chip to determine the owner has only increased the looming feeling of dread in him. He knows it‘s unreasonable; just because something good happens, nothing bad is soon to follow, or rather, just because he hasn‘t lost the kitten yet doesn‘t mean he’s gonna.

  
Minutes later and he's kneeling on the floor, which seems to have become a common occurrence these last few days and likely won't change anytime soon. 

"Come on, buddy, get the mouse." Bucky bounces the toy, trying to lure the tomcat from under the bed. There's no reaction. He sighs and leans against his bed frame.

A knock sounds and slowly, the door opens. "Hey Buck," Steve says quietly and slips into the room. Bucky only grunts in answer. 

"Where's the boy?" Steve asks and goes to lean against the windowsill. He's taken to calling the cat by 'boy' lately, but Bucky doesn't mind as long as he gets to keep him.

Bucky gestures at the kitten's general direction and shrugs. Steve hums in understanding. 

"Do you have a name yet?"

With a huff, Bucky lets himself sprawl on the floor, spread out like a starfish, and tilts his head until he can make out the upside down figure of his cat looking back at him in curiosity. "Alpine," Bucky says. The cat's ears twitch. Bucky takes it as a sign.

Steve hums again. "Not bad." He steps closer. "I'll go get a found-a-cat poster ready and you'll help me hang them up later, alright?"

Bucky's mood sours immediately and again, he gives a non-committal grunt and stretches his hand towards Alpine. The kitten shuffles a step back and Bucky works hard to keep the pout off his face. 

Steve leaves the room with a sigh and for a few minutes, Bucky alternates between staring at the ceiling and looking at an upside down Alpine, trying to keep the thoughts of what could happen if he and Steve put those stupid posters up away. 

He's torn out of his musings when he hears the tiny steps next to his head and feels the tickle of whiskers on his cheek. Alpine sniffs him carefully and when he's done, he hops on Bucky's chest and hunkers down, tucking his little white paws in. Bucky licks his lips in nervous anticipation and brings his hand up. 

Alpine purrs, bumps his head against his fingers and Bucky wants to scream in joy. He doesn't and instead happily resigns himself to lying on the cold, hard floor for however long Alpine decides to spoil him. 

  
Several days later, Bucky doesn't wake up to the feeling of teeth or claws digging into his toes and thanks the lord for making Alpine finally give him a break. His jaw cracks on a yawn as he leaves his room and goes to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for himself and his furry companion. 

"Alpine," he calls and opens a fresh can of wet food. There's no reaction. Huh. He turns and looks around the apartment. No white ball of fur on the couch, to excitable kitten running at him to claw himself up Bucky's leg. 

"Alpine?" He puts the can down and walks into the hallway, looking around. Nothing. Maybe the kitten's sleeping in Steve's underwear drawer again, the little weirdo. Bucky opens the door to Steve's room and enters, blind to the chaos due to years of exposure. Had Steve accidentally locked Alpine in here before going to work?

But there's still no sound, no movement, no Alpine. He frowns, kneeling to look under the bed. Again, nothing. He pulls the drawers open, searches Steve's clothes, and even climbs on the bed to see if maybe Alpine's on top of the closet. Nothing, nothing, nothing. 

He climbs down again, his insides now tied into a tight, anxious knot. Alpine can't be _gone_. Right? 

In the next fifteen minutes, Bucky searches his room, the living area, and the bathroom in vain before a thought stops him dead in his tracks. Maybe someone had responded to their posters and taken Alpine with him. He grips the back of the couch to stem the wave of pain and desperation that crashes into him. 

No, no, he tells himself. Steve wouldn't do that to him. He wouldn't just hand Alpine over without giving Bucky the chance to say goodbye. Bucky wants to curl into a ball on his bathroom floor, feels like he can't quite breathe right, but he has to get his ass in gear and find his goddamn cat, for fuck's sake. 

Maybe Alpine slipped out the door when Steve left. He could be sitting in front of their front door right now. He could have gotten lost in the building, scared and alone and cold, wondering why his human isn't there to help him. Bucky wheezes. 

Alpine isn't there when he opens the door, Bucky finds with dismay when he almost rips the thing off its hinges in his frantic haste. He curses and looks around the hall. The sight of the stairs makes him freeze in his tracks, because what if Alpine fell down? He rushes forward and sags when he doesn't find a broken lump of white fur at the bottom. 

Bucky stumbles back against the wall and slides down until he's sitting on the floor, head in his hands and trying to get his breathing back under control. If Alpine slipped out of their apartment, he could be anywhere now, including the streets.

He could have had enough of Bucky and left to find his family. He could-

"Hey, you okay there, buddy?" 

Bucky only grunts in answer, not willing to pause his mental breakdown to assure some random shithead that he doesn't need help. Sadly, said shithead doesn't let it go.

"You sure? You look like something terrible happened," the guy says and angry, Bucky whips his head up to tell him exactly where to shove it and gapes. It's the dog owner from Monday. Bucky knows that by simply looking at the mutt currently sniffing his knee, blinking up at him in a distinctly canine happiness. 

"You're the dog guy!" he accuses. The man blinks in confusion. 

"Indeed," he deadpans. 

Bucky curses. "No, I mean the guy who had his dog scare my cat half to death a couple days ago!" 

The guy winces and unwilling to deal with the height difference, Bucky scrambles to his feet. In dismay, he realises that he's still way shorter than Dog Guy in front of him. 

"I'm sorry about your cat," the guy says. "I swear, Lucky's a good boy, he just really-" he winces again "-likes cats." He gives an awkward smile. "He slips out of my apartment sometimes when I'm not looking." 

The last part reminds Bucky of his current problem again and with a sour face, he stuffs his hand into his hoodie. "Just keep him leashed for a while, my cat might be in the hall."

"Your cat?" The guy looks around, like Alpine could be anywhere near without Bucky tackling him to the floor. 

Bucky shrugs, uncomfortable. "I mean, I think so. He's not in the apartment." 

  
He should probably have seen it coming, but in his defence, he'd never have thought that telling one of his neighbours about his cat problems would lead to said neighbour tying his dog to the banister and offering his sincere help in looking. Ten minutes after Bucky left his apartment in a frenzy, he's searching the building top to bottom with a guy he doesn't remember ever seeing before. 

"I'm Clint, by the way," the stranger offers and Bucky grunts his name in return. "How old is your cat?"

Bucky scratches the back of his neck. "Uh, I don't really know. A couple months, maybe? I've only had him for less than a week." The vet had given a very vague estimate of his age, but at least she confirmed that Alpine's old enough to be away from his mother. 

"Oh, so he's a baby!" Clint exclaims and Bucky's almost overwhelmed with the urge to yell 'yes, he's a tiny baby!'. Steve has started calling him a momma bear and Bucky doesn't even mind, which is quite telling in his opinion. 

Steps above them draw Bucky's eyes upwards and when Clint doesn't react, Bucky nudges him in the side. The other looks up, follows Bucky's eyes and smiles. It's only then that Bucky notices the purple hearing aids. 

"Amy!" Clint jogs up the stairs to greet their neighbour, a woman Bucky remembers passing about once a week. He hasn't been going out much since moving in. "Long time no see! You haven't seen a tiny white cat around, have you?"

Bucky grimaces. As much as he appreciates Clint's willingness to help, asking every single person in the building about his cat will surely bring his landlord to his door in a matter of days. But if it gets him his cat back, he's willing to risk it. 

  
An hour later and they've talked to almost every single person in the building, Clint having knocked on several doors along the way, but when they reach the ground floor, there's still no hide nor hair of Alpine to be seen. Dread and a sense of terrible foreboding have formed a rock in Bucky's stomach, dragging him down relentlessly.

Clint opens the entrance door and peaks out, but Bucky knows what he'll say next. He sits down on the stairs in defeat, hiding his face in his hand. He doesn't even care that the kinda nice guy he's only just met could see him cry. 

"Well, maybe he's snuck into an apartment? Or back into yours?" Clint tries but Bucky can hear the doubt in his voice. He's thankful for the encouragement and the help, he really is, but he's also tired and defeated and close to tears. And he hasn't even had breakfast yet. 

He gets up with a sigh, his shoulders slumped in despondence, and turns away. "Thanks for helping me, Clint. But it's pretty clear that Alpine's gone." 

He drags himself up the stairs and doesn't look when he hears Clint joining him, hovering awkwardly at his shoulder. Bucky doesn't mind; he's just glad the guy doesn't try to cheer him up. 

They reach his floor and even before Bucky opens his door- and he grimaces when he sees that he left it open -a sound makes him freeze in his tracks. 

"Alpine?!" he yells and shoves the door open. An answering scream sounds through the apartment and Bucky storms inside, oblivious to Clint's surprised face next to him. "Alpine, where are you?" The kitten sounded distinctly distressed and in the span of a moment, a thousand pictures about a sick or injured Alpine appear in his head, one worse than the other. 

The next scream leads him to his room and he curses himself when he tears the drawers of his dresser open. He should have checked the fucking drawer, but how the fuck had Alpine even gotten in there?!

Finally, when he opens one small drawer in the middle, a tiny, unhappy face looks back at him, mouth open in a heartfelt yell. As soon as Alpine sees the daylight, he's out of Bucky's shirts and crawling his way up Bucky's hoodie, heading for his shoulders. 

And Bucky's caught between sobbing in relief, prying Alpine's sharp little claws from his chest, and being embarrassed, because Clint's standing right next to him after having helped him look for this damn cat for over an hour, when really, he'd been in Bucky's room the whole damn time.

He'll curse Alpine later, but for now, he's too caught up in whispering and cooing nonsense. With his cat finally in his arm, he turns and gives Clint an apologetic look. To his surprise, the other doesn't look annoyed at all; rather the opposite, in fact.

Having lived with and around Steve all his life, Bucky's seen some pretty wide, dumb grins but Clint manages to topple Steve off the pedestal right on his first try. And now that Bucky isn't losing his mind over Alpine anymore, he notices that Clint isn't all that bad looking, either. 

"Sorry, man," he says and tries to make his face as genuine as possible, "he must have been here the whole time."

Clint throws his head back and laughs. "Don't worry, I had fun." Bucky tries to keep the snort in, but it looks like Clint sees right through him. He only grins wider. "No, really. You weren't as hysterical as you're probably imagining right now and I've seen way worse. I'm glad you found him." And he nods at Alpine, who's now trying to struggle out of Bucky's hold. 

Bucky sighs. "Well." He puts his cat on the floor and watches him zoom out of the room. "He's probably hungry." Clint follows them into the kitchen.

"Want some coffee?" Bucky asks and is almost startled by the exuberant reaction he gets. 

  
"So, you locked your cat in your drawer and lost your head when you couldn't find him later, or what?" Clint asks over the rim of his mug, undoubtedly hiding a smug little smirk. 

Bucky winces. "No. I mean, I don't know. He wasn't in there when I went to bed." He frowns and tilts his head in contemplation. "Come to think of it, the drawer has no floor, so maybe he climbed up the back?"

Clint shrugs and leans against the counter. "Sounds like a very cat thing to do." 

Bucky bites back the 'I wouldn't know' sitting in his throat. It won't do to look even more unqualified to be a pet owner than he already must in Clint's eyes. The other doesn't seem to mind, though, because he gives Bucky another smile and puts the mug down.

"I guess I should take Lucky on his walk already. Here's to hoping he hasn't peed in the hallway." Clint throws him a lazy salute that makes Bucky snort in amusement and vanishes out the door.

He stays at the counter for a few more minutes, contemplating the strange way the day had progressed from terrifying to downright nice. He might have made a friend today. A daunting prospect. 

It's only when he picks Clint's mug up to carry in to the sink that he notices the small slip of paper stuck to the underside. He picks it up with an uneasy feeling in his stomach and his heart skips a beat when he catches the squiggly numbers and a jolt of anticipation zaps through him. 

He looks over at Alpine clumsily washing himself next to his empty food dish. The cat stares back. "What have you gotten me into?" Bucky asks. Predictably, Alpine doesn't answer. 

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me how you liked it? 
> 
> Oh, and here's my [ tumblr ](https://kidd-you-not.tumblr.com/) if you want to check it out
> 
> Also, I'm gonna write a follow up, I'm just not sure when. Alpine growing older, Bucky and Clint getting closer, maybe a few time skips, who knows? I sure don't.


End file.
